


A Hodgepodge Of Clouds

by josywbu



Series: Infinite Possible Ways (To Love You) [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: A my my is it swelling with love for Peter Parker right about now, Cloud Watching, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Tony Stark Has A Heart, no actual plot, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/pseuds/josywbu
Summary: “Tell me what you see.”“A hodgepodge of clouds.”“That –“ Peter turns and forces Tony to lean back so he can meet his eyes, “Since when have you ever used the word hodgepodge.”“It’s just a word, Pete.” He wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him back in, missing the way his curls were tickling his nose and his every word reverberating through his side just seconds ago.“It’s really not but it’s also not a point.” He nestles back into his original position easily and nudges Tony, “Tell me a story about the hodgepodge of clouds.”





	A Hodgepodge Of Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> I went on a walk today and saw some pretty clouds. It somehow made me fall in love with writing again so when I got home I sat down and wrote it down and now we're here. This is barely proof read and is literally just me loving to watch the clouds and telling stories. 
> 
> Also. Up until today I had never heard the word hodgepodge and I'm not entirely sure I'm using it correctly BUT I loved it, so it stays! 
> 
> Have a blessed day x

“Tell me a story.”

It’s phrased like a demand but when Tony blinks down at the kid shamelessly tucked into his side he sees the faintest of question marks reflected in his deep brown eyes half hidden by dark, long eyelashes.

He can see the blue sky through some strands of his curly hair and a peak of red just above the top of his head and he feels his soul settle at the peaceful image.

“I don’t have a story to tell,” he gives back, albeit gently, and reaches out to chase away a pollen somersaulting through the mild evening air before it can settle on Peter’s face.

The boy scrunches up his nose indignantly at the hand so close to his face and almost goes cross-eyed trying to follow the sudden movement but never leans away. He doesn’t even flinch. If possible at all he leans closer, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder and angling it so he can look at the sky soaked in the softest of red.

Tony, on the other hand, keeps watching him and when he sees the sun set and the clouds fly past in his eyes he is certain that his boy holds the entire universe in his eyes. His universe at least.

“Everyone has a story to tell,” Peter retorts with a smile directed at nothing in particular and yet everything all at once. It’s the way he’s been ever since Tony has met him – smiling at the world, giving and shining and all Tony can do is hope that the world will smile back. “Just make one up.”

It sounds so easy when he says it, so confident and trusting and good.

But Tony is not the guy to make up kid- friendly bed time stories. Every story his mind has come up with so far has always ended in catastrophe. Every worst possible outcome will always come true in his head. His demons will always leak into his stories and he’s trying his hardest to keep them away from Peter – to keep the kid as sheltered as he possibly can even when he knows it’s futile with what he’s already seen.

Still, sometimes Peter’s optimism feels like the world has spared him from all the trauma Tony knows he’s gone through and he’s glad. He’s ridiculously glad that the kid can still get up every morning with hope in his eyes and love in his heart. He knows how hard it can be and it goes to show how much stronger Peter Parker is than he could have ever imagined.

With a small sigh he leans down and rests his cheek on top of Peter’s head. “I don’t have a very good imagination.”

“Liar,” Peter scoffs and the eye roll is evident in his tone, “Your imagination is unparalleled. It’s not like you’re leading R&D with someone else’s ideas. Or are you?” he asks mockingly shocked.

“It’s a different kind of imagination,” he argues halfheartedly, watching two shapeless clouds slowly morph together.

“Maybe,” Peter hums, “But it’s not really. And you have to be able to tell stories once you’re a dad, right?”

“I don’t think my newborn will care much about whatever it is I have to say. For all she cares I could be talking about the Henderson- Hasselbalch equation.”

It’s ridiculous but it makes Peter giggle and nestle into him more firmly with the movement so, in his books, he’s pretty sure he’s done something right. “Please don’t do that, Mister Stark. Since when do you talk chemistry anyway?”

“Since a certain _someone_ ,” he pokes his side, “Has started preparing his web fluids in my lab and I have to try to keep him from blowing it up.”

The joke is meant to distract and deflect but Peter, being Peter, doesn’t care much for Tony’s unwillingness to pad into new territory and simply ignores the jab. Instead he releases one of his hands from where they’re intertwined in his lap and points upwards, the borrowed hoodie sliding down just far enough to free his index finger but his thumb stays covered.

“Tell me what you see.”

“A hodgepodge of clouds.”

“That –“ Peter turns and forces Tony to lean back so he can meet his eyes, “Since when have you _ever_ used the word _hodgepodge_.”

“It’s just a word, Pete.” He wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him back in, missing the way his curls were tickling his nose and his every word reverberating through his side just seconds ago.

“It’s really not but it’s also not a point.” He nestles back into his original position easily and nudges Tony, “Tell me a story about the _hodgepodge_ of clouds.”

“Well,” he frowns and looks at the assortment of clouds ahead.

They’re illuminated bright red and the first thing that comes to mind is a fire – an inferno burning through the sky, flames leaking and stretching, unfurling their clutches to swallow his world whole. There’s grey clouds in front of it, like ashes of what used to be scattering around the place. The whole scene makes his blood run cold and his left hand itch. Instead of burying his fingernails into the ball of his hand he smooths out a wrinkle in Peter’s – well, _his_ – hoodie. 

“They used to be warm air and now they’re water. The Rayleigh scattering makes sure it looks creepily red and the wind moves the whole thing.”

“For a genius,” Peter starts, “You’re pretty dumb sometimes.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk, Mister ‘ _I can totally drink while doing a one handed handstand and balance a Lego figure on my feet’_.”

“In my defense, Darth Vader made me do it,” the kid has the audacity to giggle like the scream of him falling and landing on his Lego isn’t still echoing through his nightmares every once in a while. “Anyway, since you’re being a disaster _I_ am going to tell _you_ a story about those clouds.”

Before Tony can give some smartass retort, Peter has already untucked himself from his embrace and folds his legs crisscross in front of him, rocking back and forth on top of one of the tallest buildings in New York City.

Frankly, Tony hates it but he keeps quiet, instead reciting all the security precautions he has taken and why this specific kid could definitely not fall off this specific skyscraper.

“The clouds at the front are kind of all grey and dull and sad. Those are the people lacking imagination. Old people, cruel people. People stuck in the past.” Peter shoots him a pointed look but then goes back to focus on the sky instead, “They’re trying to keep everything the way it is, the status quo if you will, trying to hide the bright minds and the hope that’s marching on behind them.” 

“But you see,” he smiles softly and plays with the sleeves of the dark blue hoodie, “Where the light is strongest, the grey is already starting to break and it’s obvious they won’t be able to hold them in much longer.”

“They scream love louder than the others can silence them. It’s the new generation marching up, demanding its rights and demanding change. It’s hope that’s spreading like a wildfire in their hearts and eventually it’s going to be stronger than the cold faceless mass of grey. It’s like a dawn of a new era where everything is light instead of darkness.”

“Maybe this is God’s way of showing us that our time will be soon and to keep being hopeful. Or maybe,” he shrugs almost bashfully,” it’s just a really beautiful hodgepodge of clouds.”

“Or _maybe_ ,” Tony weighs the words on his tongue, meeting the kid’s eyes and thanking whatever God or universe of fate it was that made them meet, “Maybe you are right and it’s hope. I like your story.”

“You do?”

“Well, except for the fact that apparently I’m part of the faceless grey mass that is trying to kill the hope. Yes, I did.”

Peter laughs, open and young and faithful, “Oh, you’re not. You just try to act like it sometimes but I think you’re one of the brightest lights and you’ll always fight for a better future, Mister Futurist.”

Without looking he leans back, trusting Tony to make sure he lands with his head in his lap and he curls into himself on the hard concrete like it is a mattress, cushioned only by the loose sweatshirt, facing the same direction again to keep watching the slowly moving clouds with a small yawn.

Tony joins him, fingers finding a spot just right behind Peter’s ear and falling into a familiar pattern of untangling his curls.

“Next story is on you, by the way.”

“I’ll try my very best.”

When he looks up again the grey clouds have parted and scattered and the red has turned into a hopeful yellowy-orange and he promises himself and the kid slowly drifting off to look at the world a little more like Peter does from now on.


End file.
